


keep my distance

by kingandqueeninthenorth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-12
Updated: 2013-06-12
Packaged: 2017-12-14 19:13:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/840394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingandqueeninthenorth/pseuds/kingandqueeninthenorth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He wants her laughter and smiles and tears. He wants her gasps and heart palpitations and sighs. He wants her breath and her soul and the feeling of her hair brushing his skin. He wants her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	keep my distance

They break their fast in silence.

_The last of the Starks,_ Robb muses. He pictured this moment a thousand times, while he lay awake at night, anticipating the battles to come. He had always pictured himself smiling. He imagined Sansa laughing. He imagined more faces.

There are only two other Starks now. His eldest sister and his bastard brother, who isn’t really his brother at all.

_Targaryen._ Robb thinks of Jon’s aunt, the dragon queen. They share no similarities in appearance, but Jon’s parentage is for certain.

“The wildlings say red hair is lucky,” Jon says, breaking a piece of bread in half. He smiles at Sansa. “They say it means you’re kissed by fire.”

“Kissed by fire,” she repeats. A smile pulls at the corner of her lips.

Jealousy cuts through Robb like a knife.

_It should be me she smiles for._ It’s a selfish thought and he knows it. He wants all of Sansa, every part of her that she can give, whether it be smiles or laughter or love.

But it’s Jon who will have it all.

—-

His sister may as well be made of ice. She rarely smiles. Her gaze is cold and her words leave a chill in the air like a winter wind. She has her walls up, thick and impenetrable. There is no way to get through to Sansa, no matter how hard he tries.

And he does try. He laughs and smiles and makes stupid japes in hopes of getting any sort of positive reaction from her. It never works. She is polite and proper to a fault and it makes his heart ache.

He wants nothing more than to be alone with her, to have just a moment where he can touch her without prying eyes. He longs to steal her away, to hold all of her attention. But he never gets a chance, and he knows that is no accident.

—-

He finds Sansa in her bedchamber. She sits before a mirror, her handmaiden running a brush through the fall of her hair. The copper in it catches the light, sending it dancing over the red and orange tones. The color is so similar to his own, and it gives him a queer feeling. Her eyes flicker to his reflection in her mirror.

Robb looks to the maid. “Leave us.”

Once she’s gone, he bars the door and turns back to his sister. She’s fit for bed, wearing only a thin linen nightgown. He does his best to ignore the way the light glows on her pale skin. He keeps his voice even as he says, “Do you want to marry Jon?”

She stands, turning her back to him and wrapping a fur about her shoulders. “I’d sooner marry him than someone I’ve never met.”

It isn’t the answer he expected, and it’s far from the one he wanted. He hesitantly reaches out to her, putting his hands on her shoulders and running them down the length of her arms. He wants to warm her, to melt the icy shell that surrounds her. “He’s your cousin…”

She pulls free of him. “And you are my brother,” she says, her tone is accusing.

“I could stop this.” Desperation forces the words from his mouth. He wants to win her favor back, whatever the cost. He would’ve promised her the moon if she asked for it, but it would do no good. He can no more pull the moon from the sky than he can break the marriage proposed by the new queen.

_It’s an alliance with the North I need. Your sister will marry my nephew. Stark and Targaryen will be joined again._ He remembers her every word. He remembers the pit that settled in his stomach.

“Forgive me, brother, but I am wary of your promises.” Sansa’s words are so sharp and barbed that it’s a wonder her tongue doesn’t bleed.

He thinks of King’s Landing and his little sister in the Red Keep, blocking blows with her small hands and dropping to her knees before the Iron Throne. He broke the only promise that mattered: the unspoken one between a brother and sister to keep each other safe.

—-

He tries to keep away from her. She wants nothing to do with him and he knows it.

He hears footsteps, accompanied by the drag of skirts on the stone floor of the castle. He goes in search of her, Grey Wind loping after him.

He’s certain she hears his approach, but she doesn’t look back. He catches her by the arm and pulls her back to him.

She says his name breathlessly as he backs them into the blackness of a corridor. Grey Wind stops in front of the hallway entrance, stretching out before it as a guard. Robb presses his sister against a wall, hoping to obscure their silhouettes.  He has her alone, just as he wanted, but words escape him.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispers. “What do you want from me?”

_Everything._ He wants her laughter and smiles and tears. He wants her gasps and heart palpitations and sighs. He wants her breath and her soul and the feeling of her hair brushing his skin. He wants  _her._

“I have nothing to give,” she says, and he can hear both anger and sadness in her voice. He can hear her tears and the way they choke her. “I’m too tired to play these games.”

_So young and so tired._

It’s too dark to make out the lines of her face, but he goes to kiss her and misses, his lips pressing against the skin of her cheek. He can taste the salt of her tears. He’s certain she’s going to pull away, but instead she kisses him back, her lips closing around the bottom of his own. He can feel her tongue trace the indention there.

His hands go to her hips, digging into the fabric, but she breaks away. “Not here.”

“Where?” He can hear his own desperation.

She shakes her head stumbles away from him, and all her sees is her black outline as she escapes into the lighted hallway.

—-

Only the tips of their fingertips touch as she leads him further into the crypts. She holds a torch to show the way, and she stops before one of the sepulchers. She drops the torch to the floor where it rolls.

Robb lifts her to sit on the stone and stands between her legs, pushing her skirts up. Sansa pulls his shirt off and tosses it carelessly to the floor, then unlaces his breeches with deft skill. Her hands find their way to the nape of his neck, weaving her fingers into his hair. She draws his closer and wraps her legs around his waist as tightly as she can.

The Kings of Winter watch from the shadows. The dead eyes of the statues regard them mutely.Neither of them have the patience for prelude, so he pushes into her. She bites his shoulder and drags her teeth along his skin, her fingernails raking across his back. His fingers sink into the small of her back as he pushes deeper, forcing them as closely together as he can.

Sansa runs her tongue up Robb’s neck, biting at the underside of his jaw and tightening her legs around him.

They’re never close enough together, no matter how entwined they are.

 —-

“Jon will suspect something,” she murmurs. She pulls a fur around herself, covering her ivory skin as though she were ashamed.

The godswood is empty save for them, and Robb makes no move to cover himself. The only eyes on him belong to Sansa and the heart tree.

“We must be more careful,” she reminds him. “What if someone found us?”

“Who else comes to the godswood?” Robb asks. “Jon?”

Sansa gives him a look.

Robb has tried to tame his jealousy, but it does no good. The thought of Jon’s calloused hands roaming the plane of Sansa’s body makes his stomach twist. He wonders if she thinks of him with Jon inside her, or if she even thinks at all. She could drift away when it happens, retreating into the back of her mind while her cousin works over her.

He asked about it once, but she denied him answers.

“Let him find us. There’s nothing I’d like more. Let him know you’re mine and mine alone.”

“You shouldn’t say such things. It’s dangerous.”

_Dangerous for who?_ he wonders. Dangerous to their safety or dangerous because of the hope it gives him, that one day he won’t have to share his sister?

—-

“We should stop,” she gasps when their lips part. “Jon…”

He can’t stand hearing his cousin’s name. He leaves a trail of kisses from the hollow of Sansa’s collar to her belly button and she moans. Her hips lift, grinding against Robb. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

She moans and gasps and breathes his name, but never tells him to stop.

He has her laughter and her smiles and her kisses. He gets her gasps and moans and tears too. He knows all too well that he must share her and certain parts of her.

But he takes what he can get. 


End file.
